


A Gun to my Head and a Kiss to my Mouth

by angelboygabriel



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action, Arthur and Eames being reckless two year olds, Dreamsharing, Established Friends With Benefits, Fighting, M/M, handjobs, inspired by the Kingsman soundtrack and fight scenes, pre Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelboygabriel/pseuds/angelboygabriel
Summary: “Just fucking consider it a success, sweetheart.” Eames tells Arthur.





	A Gun to my Head and a Kiss to my Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> For your reading pleasure, I highly suggest playing Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting and Let’s Go Crazy to go along with this because they are the pure inspirations for this fic. This is my first work for the Inception fandom so I hope you enjoy!

 

Jobs can get compromised pretty easily in their line of work.

 

One minute, Arthur and Eames are trailing the mark, and the next, the mark suddenly notices them and his subconscious rears up like a _wave_.

 

The projections all level the death glare at Arthur and Eames, who stand frozen in the middle of New York’s Chinatown.

 

“Mr. Eames, I do believe we’ve been made.” Arthur murmurs, and Eames chuckles.

 

“How astute of you.” he snips back as they look around. The projections begin to walk forward. Eames grabs Arthur’s cuff.

 

“Run.” he hisses in his ear and they take off at the exact moment all the projections begin to rush them.

 

Eames and Arthur duck and turn for what feels like hours, shoving over souvenir stands and running like they’re both 20 again. Arthur’s lungs burn and they keep moving as a stray bullet to a side of a building reminds them they’re still being chased.

 

“Down here, come on!” Eames wheezes as he grabs Arthur’s hand to pull him down an alley. They screech to a stop as they face what seems like a wall of projections, and Arthur swears loudly as he realizes more projections swept in behind them.

 

They’re surrounded.

 

Eames pulls out his gun, pointing it in one direction but looking in the other. Arthur does the same.

 

“Well, I hope you’re in the mood for a little action today.” Eames muses, and Arthur scowls. The projections creep up slowly, but Arthur and Eames stand their ground.

 

Typically, when a job is compromised, most people just give up and wake back up to a failed job and maybe try again.

 

Arthur and Eames are not most people. You have to shove a gun in Arthur’s mouth and pull the trigger for him to quit. (Eames would know.)

 

And Eames like the chaos of openly facing death and accepting it with a bang. (Arthur’s had his fair share of watching Eames try to show him up.)

 

They’re back to back now, moving in a circle as they shoot and strike and punch. They work in sync, fighting like a two-man tornado as bullets whiz and blood colors the ground. Eames isn’t sure if they’re somehow riding the dream to make it go in their favor of not dying, but he won’t complain about getting to see Arthur with a mask of fury and precision on his face.

 

Only two projections are left now, both of them targeting Arthur with nothing but fists.One of the guys rush them, and Eames looks over his shoulder to see Arthur catch the projection’s punch and twist his arm before kicking his jaw so hard his neck snaps back.

 

“That’s so fucking sexy, darling.” Eames growls into Arthur’s ear as he pulls him in by the hip and casually props his gun over Arthur’s shoulder, cleanly killing the last projection. Arthur tosses his arms around Eames’s neck and kisses him hotly, teeth clacking together as their tongues slide across each other like Eames’s hands on Arthur’s waist.

 

Arthur usually doesn’t do things like that, but the adrenaline is buzzing in his veins so hard he’s shocked he hasn’t kicked himself awake and he feels reckless. It’s been _forever_ since he’s been in a proper fight, especially one with Eames. He’s not against blowing Eames in this alley, blood and bodies all around, but he’s more professional than that.

 

They break apart with a gasp as the sound of thudding footsteps fill the alley and they start running in the other direction again. Arthur’s just a bit faster than Eames, and he spots a motorcycle that he sprints towards and practically leaps onto.

 

“Hop on!” Arthur yells as Eames runs up behind him and nearly falls before elegantly swinging a leg over behind Arthur. Arthur revs the bike immediately and they rip into traffic.

 

Eames’s head whips back as he notices the platoon of cars chasing them now, and the window on the lead car rolls down.

 

“Go faster, darling!” Eames urges as the guy on the passenger side leans out the window and cocks a gun at them.

 

“That’s usually my line.” Arthur replies with a smirk as he floors it hard. The motorcycle weaves between cars and Eames whoops with joy as they tear away.

 

New York turns into a colorful blur under the influence of Arthur’s daredevil driving, neon lights and cars honking as the duo cackle childishly and pull over shortstop style to the curb before taking off on foot down the street. Eames starts shoving over vendor carts as they go, earning shouts and curses in Mandarin, Arthur wistfully looking at bubble tea shops they run by.

 

“Drinks when we get back, darling?” Eames huffs out, and Arthur nods his assent. They duck into some restaurant called Shanghai Joe’s, smoky and filled with projections. They all whip around to face them, and Arthur’s suddenly got a baseball bat in his hands as he takes a swing at guy who lunges at him.

 

“Mr. Eames, I believe our time is almost up.” Arthur says conversationally as he twirls the bat around and brings it down with a sickening crack on the head of a rather intimidating looking woman with a knife.

 

“Go out with a bang?” Eames asks, and the faintest smirk pulls at Arthur’s mouth.

 

“Is there any other way to go?”

 

And then Eames has a grenade in his hand, and pulls the pin.

 

* * *

 

“Oh fuck, that was so fantastic!” Eames says as he yanks the PASIV from his arm and licks his lips. The mark is still out cold, the job’s boss Percy Nguyen still under with him.

 

“I wouldn’t say _fantastic_...” Arthur muses as they tidily pack their things, aiming to make a getaway before Percy and the mark wake back up.

 

“We only fucked up a little, didn’t we? Besides, we disrupted a sizable portion of fake New York City. I’d count that a success. And Nguyen is more than capable of obtaining his thought. We certainly gave him an excellent distraction to raid and find the vault.” Eames reasons, and Arthur hums as he pops open the briefcase filled with payment money. He lifts $10,000 for he and Eames, and tucks the folds into his own duffel bag before dying the other man.

 

Eames is reclining on his chair with his lip between his teeth as he watches Arthur. He deliberately spreads his legs and raises an eyebrow.

 

“Just fucking consider it a success, sweetheart.” he tells Arthur, and his voice is pitched lower than usual.

 

Arthur cocks a hip and offers him a cool stare. “Do you have a hotel room?” Arthur asks him neutrally, and Eames shakes his head with a shit eating grin. Arthur rolls his eyes and picks up his duffel bag, turning to leave the room without checking for Eames. He hears confident footsteps follow him soon enough, though, and then two hands are grabbing his hips and pulling him backwards into Eames. He smiles slowly; he knows Eames too well.

 

“Now, now, don’t be acting so cold to me. I’ve got a few ideas of how we should celebrate.” he purrs in Arthur’s ear, his hard on pressing pleasantly against Arthur’s ass. Arthur likes this game, play cold to wind him up and watch him go. But he’s out of patience today.

 

Arthur drops his duffel bag and suddenly whirls around, catching Eames by surprise as he slams him against the wall.

 

“How many of those plans include me riding you on the floor of this shitty warehouse until you’re begging me to come?” Arthur asks conversationally. Eames’s breath catches in his throat, and then Arthur’s the one to grab their shit and stumble into an empty room only a floor below job. It’s risky and stupid and reckless and it’s Eames being unable to breathe when Arthur touches him and it’s that Arthur _can’t fucking think when Eames kisses him like that._

 

Neither of them can muster the patience to even fuck properly, instead choosing to shove and grab at each other until Arthur’s mouth and neck are fucking /wet from how much Eames has kissed and bitten him. Eames ends up on his back, staring at the warehouse ceiling. He pulls Arthur on top of him and they shakily undo each other’s pants, begging without words for contact.

 

Somehow it’s dirtier this way, more desperate, one of Eames’s legs pushing hard into Arthur’s side as he jerks him fast at the same pace Arthur’s giving him. Their clothes will be ruined and most likely ripped, Eames doesn’t doubt that.

 

“You fucking ruin me, Eames.” Arthur moans desperately into his ear, and Eames huffs out a laugh as his hips hitch up higher, heels digging into the floor as he thrusts into Arthur’s grip.

 

“And you _love_ it.” he replies cheekily, which makes Arthur practically snarl as he buries his face in Eames’s shoulder, biting him hard enough he can feel it through his shirt. He murmurs something else, but it’s too high pitched and breathy for Eames to make out before Arthur is pushing himself back onto his arm above Eames and almost smacks their foreheads as his head drops and he starts coming.

 

Arthur’s face screwing up painfully in an Eames-wrought orgasm is so erotic that Eames’s own gut tightens and then he snaps, like a cut string.

 

They both breath heavily, Arthur rolling off top of him to lay on his back.

 

“God, my suit is ruined.” he says disdainfully.

 

“It always ends up that way.” Eames intones flatly and Arthur glares at him before standing up.

 

“Next job we do, I’ll wear a suit and I will not let you have sex with me just to spite you for that statement.” Arthur says and Eames chuckles.

 

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment, Arthur. I thought we were friends.”

 

“We are, I’m just sick of having to buy so many new clothes.”

 

“Perhaps you should consider a nudist lifestyle?”

 

Arthur’s scowl deepens even more, but it holds none of the venom or contempt usually given to everyone who’s not Eames.

 

Eames chooses to keep lying on the ground as Arthur makes himself somewhat presentable again. He buttons a vest over the conspicuous stains on his shirt and rakes a hand through his hair before helping Eames up.

 

They split at the airport, pausing after security before they go their separate ways.

 

“Where are you off to?” Arthur asks.

 

“Mombasa. I suppose I’ll be there for quite awhile. Do call if you’re ever bored.” Eames invites and Arthur smiles fondly. “And you?”

 

“Oh, you know me. I’ll be around.” Arthur dismisses him.

 

“I suspected as much. Well, until we meet again. Farewell, Arthur.”

 

“Goodbye, Mr. Eames.”

 

They shake hands, and part ways again.

 


End file.
